You pour two cups of coffee because you're just used to it. It's out of habit and it makes you sad because you realize that you're starting your life all over again.

You sigh heavily and take the coffee to the table and sit down with it, placing the extra one in the front of the chair across from you. You watch it for a moment, trying to map out the next week. Tomorrow is Saturday so you and Rachel are moving tomorrow. Then Sunday you'll probably help her unpack. Monday is your interviews. Hopefully one of them will take and you'll have a job by next week. You're sure it'll help you in the interview process that you're already in the middle of selling a high-end apartment that a Broadway star lived in. You've already spread the word of the apartment on the internet and the response has been promising. You have to decide which one of the potential buyers is serious and which ones just want to see the apartment for fun.

"Is that for me?" you didn't hear her walk up, but she's sleepily standing at the entrance of the kitchen, gesturing to the extra coffee on the table.

You nod even though you weren't really thinking of her as you poured, "Yes."

She stays in the doorway and places a hand on the frame, leaning on it, "You figured out how to use the monstrosity of a coffee machine?"

"You don't know how to use it?" You smile as she rubs her eyes and takes a deep breath.

She shrugs and started to make her way to the table, "I tried once. It didn't go well so I go down the street and get coffee every morning."

That sort of expenditure blows your mind. Coffee at a shop in New York is not cheap. However your roommate is a Broadway star and you're proud that she has that kind of money. You however, have no income as of right now so coffee in the kitchen every morning is what is going to happen.

She sits down in the chair and eyes the coffee before bringing it to her lips, pausing to glance at you.

You smile at the suspicion in her eyes, "It's not poisoned. I promise."

She sips it and smiled, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply-"

"Don't worry out it," you add. You are a little hurt that the high school Rachel comes out and distrusts you for a moment, "If I didn't watch myself make it, I'd be cautious too."

"So," she leans back in her chair and runs a hand through her messy morning hair, "How so you like living in the greatest city in the world?"

"It's been all of twenty-four hours, but I love it. Just going for a walk is exciting. Although it's very expensive," you offhandedly mention.

"Tell me about it," she smiles and rests her chin on her palm,

"That reminds me. I've gotten a lot of response on this apartment. It shouldn't be long before we get it sold." You add, picking up your phone and starting a task list.

"Oh there's no hurry." She draws her knees to her chest and continues to sip her coffee. You're taken by the sight of her mussed hair and her sleepy eyes. Even in sweats and a t-shirt, to you she's still irresistible.

You shake yourself out of some not so innocent thoughts and take a deep breath, getting back on track. If you're going to live together you're going to have to start seeing her as your best friend and roommate and not the object of your decade old unrequited love, "I need to get it sold so I can get an actual job Monday."

"Well I think I heard one of my cast mates talk about moving. I'll get him your name." She taps her fingers on the table, "Oh and your commission for the new apartment will be here soon."

"Commission? All I did was follow you around." You frown.

"You saved me from horrible plumbing, fake granite and when I told everyone you were my real estate agent they knocked off thousands of dollars. That is commission worthy." She states with a cute smile and balances her coffee on one of her knees for a beat before putting it on the table.

"No Rachel-"

"I won't hear any of it!" She dramatically stands and puts her hands over her ears. "You'll have it tomorrow." She hums to herself until she's sure you won't say anything. Then she smiles and picks up her coffee. "I'm glad you see it my way."

You grin and ask, "Is there any other way?"

Her eyes light up, "Someone finally gets it!" She laughs all the way to her bedroom.

You smile and shake your head. It's hard to believe your luck. You come to New York just to see her; to scratch the itch that's always been there and you end up moving in with her. She's grown up enough to mellow slightly, but her personality still fills up the room. She's still the girl you remember. The one you fell for.

When you hear her shower start, you stand from the table. You start riffling through the cabinets for something to make for breakfast. Fortunately she has some organic, vegan frozen waffles that you promptly put in the toaster. You take out your phone and start making a grocery list because it's apparent that this girl hasn't eaten at home in a long time. After the move tomorrow, you need to get to grocery shopping so you don't starve to death. You hope it's not hard to adapt to a vegan lifestyle.

As you wait for them to pop up, you hear Rachel start to sing. You chuckle quietly. You should have guessed that she was a shower singer. You found out last night when you got up to get some water that she's a sleep singer too.

She continues to sing while you start looking around for syrup or something equally unhealthy to put on those ridiculously healthy waffles. Just as you find some, you recognize the song she's singing. Your hand stops mid-reach for the syrup because this song wraps it's words around your heart like a death grip.

That ridiculous Avril Lavigne song was the one that made you fall for her. Every time you hear it your insides implode and you have to fight off the urge to cry. Now she's singing it and you're not ready for how fast the tears come. Usually you'd love that you can hear her singing in the shower, but right now is not the time for your fragile emotions to shatter.

Keep holdin' on

Cause you know we'll make it through

There's nothing you can say

Nothing you can do

There's no other way when it comes to the truth

Keep holdin' on

Cause you know we'll make it through

We'll make it through

The shower shutting off pulls you out of your memory. You quickly wipe off your face and snatch the syrup from the pantry. You pull out the waffles that you just made and throw two more in the toaster. You set the table for two and pour some orange juice for both of you.

She steps back out with an empty coffee cup in her hand. She her hair is still damp and is hanging limply over her shoulders. You watch her face as she surveys the table. When her eyes move to you, you let out a hopeful smile.

When her face breaks out in a smile, you drop your shoulders. She walks over to you and of course, hugs your waist. "You don't have to make breakfast Quinn."

"I know," you answer, "But sometimes it's nice to eat at home, which you apparently don't do a lot of."

"I'm not so much for cooking," Rachel pulls away and pulls you by your hand to the table. You both sit down, but this time instead of across from each other, she sits you at the head of the table and she sits perpendicular to you. She moves her plate and glass in front of herself and happily eyes the food, "I forgot about these."

You chuckle because you totally believe it. "When do we start moving?"

"We do not start moving Miss Fabray," she cuts up her waffle before drowning it in syrup, "The movers will be here at noon and my assistant will be directing the move. I don't have to be at the theatre until four so we are going to go do something fun."

"Like?" you prompt, wanting to know what to dress for. You're grateful that you don't actually have to move anything. After doing the manual labor of moving Finn's mom's old furniture into your house and then moving it out three weeks later when you couldn't stand to look at it anymore was enough for you. You could totally get used to this rooming with a celebrity thing.

After the pedicure (no manicure because Rachel's character in the play can't have painted toenails), you both get into a cab. After you drop her off, you take the cab to the new apartment to make sure all the furniture got to the new place in the same condition it left in. Rachel made you promise to check to make sure her present to herself was in the third bedroom. She didn't tell you what the present was but she assured you that you'd know what it was when you saw it. In your mind, you see a life-sized Liza Minnelli mannequin.

You use your key to open the front door and step into the apartment. You smile because this place just feels like home. Like you're supposed to be here.

You place your purse on the small table next to the door move through the apartment. Rachel's assistant must have a good eye for design because everything looks like it was put there by an interior designer.

You remember that you were supposed to check on Rachel's present so you slowly go through the apartment looking through the rooms. You find Rachel's bedroom first. It's set up almost exactly like it was at the old apartment, but room and the windows are bigger. You look over at the balcony that extends from the sliding door by the windows.

The size of her room gets you excited to see your room. When you were helping her look at apartments you didn't consider that you might live there so you were just looking at the quality of the materials used to make it and not where you might stay.

Your legs at itching to run because you haven't been this excited for a while. You manage to control yourself until you get to the bedroom on the other side of the apartment. You look around your bedroom as you move to the bed and sit down. All the furniture is the same deep, dark wood that Rachel's is and you find that all the little things you brought with you are set up all around the room. This room couldn't be more perfect. There's a TV on the dresser that you don't remember ever seeing at the old apartment. You look to the side and find an adjoining bathroom with a full bathtub in it, which excites you to no end.

You then decide to go see what Rachel meant by present. The third bedroom is down the hall from yours so it doesn't take you long to find Rachel's present. The third bedroom is lined with bookcases that are filled with books of all kinds, but Rachel's present to herself is sitting in the corner of the room. The shiny black of the wood and the ivory white of the keys is stunning. You sit down on the bench and lightly run your finger over the keys of this gorgeous baby grand. You can't help, but feel that this is a present to you too because you've always, always loved when she plays. In high school, you'd come up with any excuse to watch her and one time even did some slightly illegal things to keep Brad from coming when you were supposed to practice a solo so you'd have to have Rachel play for you.

From your seat you can hear the front door open. You slowly rise and make your way to the door, hoping that it's Rachel.

Of course it's not. There's a young man, you've never seen before walking in the doorway with a dry cleaning bag over his shoulder. He drops some keys on the table and closes the door. When he looks up and see you, he looks startled, but eventually smiles, "Quinn?"

"Have we met?" you ask. This cannot be another of Rachel's boyfriends. You've always thought she was hot and all but this is ridiculous.

"No," he set the dry cleaning over the couch, "I'm her assistant, Jake." He extends his hand to you.

You slowly shake it and look him over. He doesn't look anything like you imagined her assistant would look like. Mostly because you assumed her assistant was a girl. Also not as tall and built as the guy in front of you. You feel bad for assuming that every guy that Rachel knows in her boyfriend. You know its just jealousy.

"It's awesome to finally meet you. Rachel hasn't stopped talking about you since you left earlier this week," he picks up the dry cleaning again and makes his way to her bedroom. When he comes back he walks into the kitchen and you follow him.

You're still a little confused so you decide that you need to clarify, "You did all this?" You gesture to the living room.

He seems to know what you're talking about and laughs, "I spend a lot of time waiting for Rachel or her stuff. I read whatever is around and have picked up a few things about flow and feng shui and all that stuff." He checks all the cabinets.

"If you're looking for food, you're out of luck," you smile at him, liking him already, "The woman doesn't keep food."

"I know," he laughs, "I've been trying to get her to keep some things here, but she just forgets about it and it all goes bad." He closes the refrigerator and turns to you, "If you'll give me a list of stuff you want from the grocery store I'll get if for you while I pick up her stuff."

You think about it for a moment. "You're familiar with this whole vegan thing right?"

He leans on the counter and puts his hands in the pockets of his jeans, "Very."

"I'll go with you and you can educate me," you pick up your purse, "I'm going to make dinner tonight and I think after the frozen waffles we had for breakfast, I'm all out of idea."

He runs his hand through his shaggy brown hair and nods, "Awesome. I've never had company grocery shopping. I usually listen to music and go as fast as I can."

A few minutes later, you're both walking behind the basket that you're pushing and looking through all the items on the shelves. He's explaining the little intricacies of a vegan diet and adds that you'd be surprised how many things use animal products.

"Eggs are a definite no," he states as you walk past them.

Even if it wasn't a non-vegan thing, you're weird about eggs being around Rachel. You blame Jesse St. James for that and you smile that you're subconsciously trying to keep all eggs away from Rachel even if they're not being thrown at her.

"Coffee," you state when you see it, "We definitely need coffee." Rachel only had a tiny bag of novelty coffee that you drink this morning. She seemed to like it, but you are more of a pure organic Columbian girl.

"Did you teach her how to use to coffee maker or did you do it?" Jake asks, watching you pick out the coffee that you want.

You chuckle and toss the coffee into the basket, "I made it."

"Figures," he looks at the list on the phone, "She'll never learn how to use it." He picks up a box of crackers, reading the ingredients before placing them in the basket.

As you both make your way through the store, he keeps informing you on Rachel's likes and dislikes in her food as well as things that are an absolute no-no's to things that you could get away with (generic brands) as long as Rachel doesn't see the box.

"You seem like a great assistant," you offer as you both lug the purchases to his car, "Where did she find you? Do they have personal assistant agencies?"

He chuckles and opens the trunk for you, "I don't know if they do. I was just at the gym one day and she walked up to me. She looked me right in the eyes and asked me who she was." He smiles, making sure your hands are out of the way when he closes the trunk of the car, "Of course I had no idea who she was and told her that she was probably looking for someone else. Then she smiled and told me that she wanted to hire me." He walks with you to the passenger door and opens it for you.

You smile up at him, "Thanks." After he closes the door and gets in on his side you add, "That sounds just like Rachel."

"She's definitely something else," he laughs and pulls into traffic.

You look over at the undoubtedly handsome, funny, and smart guy driving your around. You narrow your eyes and try to make yourself feel something. Maybe you do. It's a little tingle in the back of your stomach. You like his smile and how he opened your door for you. You also like how he takes care of Rachel.

You let out a sigh and look out the window. Somehow the feelings you're trying to have for this guy are about Rachel. When he asks if you're okay, you just nod and add, "Tell me about this David guy."

"Rachel's David?" he asks, but doesn't wait for an answer, "Well, he's in that show with her. I'm not like, much of a Broadway guy but apparently he's good actor. He and Rachel go out like twice a week to dinner or a movie or something like that. I've met him a few times. He's kind of a dick when it comes to the help."

"Oh yeah?" you ask, completely surprised that Rachel would put up with that sort of behavior.

"But Rachel yelled at him for it," Jake adds and squeezes his small car into a spot next to your apartment. You smile, that's your Rachel.

On the way into the apartment, Jake checks the mail. You tell him that he doesn't have to worry about that anymore. You'll pick it up.

As you both share the duties of putting up the groceries, your phone rings. You excuse yourself to answer it. You're surprised by a potential buyer for Rachel's old apartment. The woman, who has no trace of emotion in her voice, tells you that her client likes the location and the size and the pictures you posted. They want to look at it as soon as possible.

"I can meet you there right now if you want," you offer.

The woman talks to someone away from the phone and replies; "We'll meet you in an hour."

"Great," you beam and hang up. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief. Someone already wanted to look at the apartment and you just put up the listing. This is ridiculous. It's ludicrous. If the real estate market is like this in New York City, you're going to love the pace. It goes a mile a minute.

When you walk back into the kitchen, you find Jake typing furiously away on his phone. He looks up at you with a smile, "You look really happy."

"I'm about to go show someone the old apartment," you explain, but can't keep the absolute elation out of your voice. Even if you take half of your normal commission, which you are going to do because this is Rachel, you are still going to make more money on this one sale then you would have selling ten houses in Lima.

You wish Rachel were here so you could hug her, but you settle for Jake. He carefully puts his strong arms around you and gives you a gentle squeeze. "That's awesome."

You pull away from him, "I have to go find something to wear." You grin and trot off to your room. Once dressed in a very professional looking suit you grab your purse. Jake is standing in the middle of the living room with his hands on his hips.

You pause at the door, "What's wrong?"

"Rachel wants to have a housewarming party tonight," he waves his phone in the air, "She just texted me from backstage in the middle of her play."

You can't help, but laugh, "So Rachel."

"Anyway," he goes on, "I have to find a way to rearrange the living room so that there's room for people."

"It's a last minute party," you shrug, digging your phone out of your purse, "How many people can there be?"

"It's a Rachel Berry party," he picks up the coffee table and moves it across the room, "It's going to be huge and you two will have more toasters than you know what to do with."

You slowly nod. It's so hard for you to picture Rachel as being famous, but she is and you better get used to it.

Showing the apartment goes off without a hitch. The monotone woman has a monotone wardrobe and her client looked entirely into the house. He kept walking to the window and looking down or down the street where a park was situated.

You got the text invite to the party that started ten minutes ago, so you swung by a liquor store and picked up a few bottles of not expensive, but not cheap champagne. You had some great news for Rachel and even better news for your bank account. You were definitely staying in New York longer than two weeks. Your commission will keep you living here for at least a year.

When you get to your apartment there's a burly man dressed in black with his arms crossed. "Um, hi?"

"You on the list?" he was apparently unversed in the pleasantries of 'hi' and 'how are you'.

"List?" you ask, shifting the bottles in your arms, "I live here?"

"Name?"

You frown, "Quinn Fabray."

He consults a folded up piece of paper and nods, stepping aside. You open the door with a quirked eyebrow and find why you need a bouncer at your apartment door. There are more people in your apartment than you ever really imagined could fit. You wade through the sea of people into the kitchen and put the champagne in the freezer. Then you grab one of the expensive looking finger foods that are set out in the kitchen before making your way to the living room. When you spot the gift table you let out a smile. You can smell all the frozen waffles all those toasters can make now.

The wind is knocked out of you when someone wraps their arms around your waist. The tight squeeze and the height of the arms let you know exactly who it is.

"What are you doing here Brit?" You ask, leaning back into her.

She rests her chin on your shoulder, "I'm working. My boss got invited and it turned into a work thing." Her sigh tickles your ear. You rest your hands on her arms.

"Is Santana here?" you ask.

You feel her body lean on yours a little more. "No. She's mad at me."

You swallow hard and turn around. Her blue eyes are sad and your heart breaks. "C'mon B."

"I-I have to work," she stutters out, her eyes on the ground.

"No Brit," you shake your head. You sympathize with Brittany and her drive to be a great dancer/choreographer, but Santana was the one that was sobbing in your arms. Santana is the one that's probably at their apartment right now trying to keep her tears off of her Oncology book. "You need to come with me." Your voice is firm and the taller girl slowly nods.

You pull her into your bedroom and close the door against the noise. You had some presence of mind to grab a tray of food and a bottle of champagne, which is great because you're starving.

When you get into your room, you find that the coffee table is stashed in here along with some of the smaller furniture and the armchair from the living room. You both crawl onto the bed and put the tray between you.

"Are you mad at me too?" Brittany asks when she's laying among a stack of pillows against the headboard.

You let out a sigh because her voice is so small and weak. "No B, I just…I understand what you're doing and I understand why Santana is upset. I just don't…You guys are so in love….I just don't want you to see you throw that away. Maybe she could be more understanding and you could work a little less?"

Brittany eyes you before picking up a finger sandwich. "I want to. I do. I just…If I stop working I might not be as good as her you know?"

You frown and shake your head. No you don't understand.

She looks at the sandwich in her hand. "I can't dance forever. Someday I won't be able to dance and what will I be? She'll be a doctor and I'll be…nothing." The tears in her eyes mirror the ones in your own. She sniffles and puts the sandwich back, "I need to make something-I need to be something before I can't anymore."

"Brittany, you can always be something," you take her hand, "You'll always be someone."

"Not like this," she sighs, "Dancing is…"

"You're not dancing Brittany," you hold her eyes, "You're so much more than that. You don't have to dance forever. You don't even have to dance now."

She slowly nods and seems to understand you, but remains skeptical. You think you've said all you can say so you turn the TV on and pop open the champagne.

After a few minutes and a few passes of the champagne bottle, you turn to Brittany, "I sold Rachel's old apartment."

"Really?" Brittany immediately smiles and looks at you.

You nod and take another sip of champagne, "She's here right? She not like ditching her own house warming party."

"It's your party too and you're in your room," Brittany pokes your shoulder and offers you a sandwich.

You take it and nod, "The party wasn't my idea." You take a bite of your sandwich.

Your bedroom door opens and Jake steps in. When he see your and Brittany he freezes. "Oh I'm sorry. I was just…running away."

You laugh and wave him in, "C'mon. We're celebrating."

"You sold it?" he asks and closes the door behind him. When you nod he offers a congratulations and gives you a celebratory hug before disappearing into the bathroom because the one outside is continuously occupied.

"Uh Q?"

You turn to Brittany and take another swig from the champagne bottle, "Hmm?"

"What's up with you and him?" she gestures to the bathroom door.

A raised eyebrow is your initial response. "Nothing's going on."

"He likes you," she smiles and looks back at the TV.

"Really?" you think that you sort of always knew that, but your failed attempts at feelings for him sort of squashed the idea. When she nods, you shake your head, "It doesn't matter. I don't feel that way and even if I did, my divorce isn't even final yet."

She takes a bite of her sandwich and adds, her eyes on the TV, "And you're in love with Rachel."

You feel your heart stop. You look at Brittany in complete disbelief as she continues to eat and drink while watching the TV like she hadn't just stated your deepest secret like it was nothing.